Out the Window
by Nightmarish
Summary: Willow's stuck on Other-Earth. Buffy's trapped on Asgard. There's probably a joke in there somewhere. SEQUEL to "Through the Door" and "Interlude..."
1. Worlds Apart 1

Surprise! It's a sequel.

This follows THROUGH THE DOOR and INTERLUDE: ANGRY EYE PATCH MAN. Both can be found in my profile. Read them first.

The concept for this series was born before, wow, the second _Thor_ movie even came out. Certainly before the second _Avengers._ I'll be honest, I haven't even seen that one. Kind of fell off the Marvel bandwagon for a while there. Point is, this little fic takes place prior to-and-during _The Avengers_ and nothing that happened after that in the movie-verse counts. A few things from _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ might show up later. Other pop culture references are fair game – see if you can spot 'em!

 **Out the Window – Part I**

 _ **Worlds Apart**_

 **Chapter One**

Willow closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

The setting sun was a warm presence against her back. She hummed under her breath as she moved slowly across the hardened desert earth. Exhaling slowly, she let a tendril of magic flit down her arms to the very tips of her fingers; cautiously expanding, testing the air, searching. She frowned. There _was_ something…

 _Rack city bitch, rack, rack city bitch_

 _Ten, ten, ten, twenties on ya titties bitch_

Willow's eyes popped open. "Seriously?" She didn't bother to check the caller ID before pressing the phone to her ear. "I tell you to pick a new ringtone and _that's_ what you come up with?"

" _You're out there again, aren't you?"_ the voice on the other end of the line accused. _"I can hear all the dirt."_

"No, I'm not," Willow lied. "I'm at Jane's."

" _Ooh, you dirty liar! I'm sitting in your chair right now. I'm thinking about stealing it, actually. It's super comfy. And all swivel-y."_

"You're here?" Willow frowned again, turning automatically towards town. "Why aren't you at school? I swear to – well, something other than a god – Darcy, if you got suspended for using your Taser again – "

" _That was_ one _time and he totally deserved it. And I was never_ actually _suspended.."_

"Because Jane sweet-talked the Dean," Willow scoffed. "Don't change the subject, young lady."

" _Chill out, Mom, I'm on Spring Break. WOOO!"_

Willow waited a beat. "You just flashed me, didn't you?"

" _Yup."_

"Moving on…you _do_ remember there's nothing to do in Puente Antiguo, right? And that it's nowhere near the ocean?"

" _I hate the beach. And you're the one who keeps changing the subject. Jane says you still go out there at least once a week."_

"Like Jane doesn't," Willow muttered under her breath. Louder, she said, "I'm coming back in now, are you happy?"

" _Super-duper thrilled!"_

Willow rolled her eyes and hung up without saying goodbye. She stashed the phone in her back pocket and took one last look around the Bifrost site. The patterned circle of compacted earth was just as it was when it had first formed, close to a year ago, now. It never changed, but Willow constantly found herself drawn back to the spot where they'd last seen Buffy and the Asgardians.

Biting down on that thought, Willow clenched her hands into fists and disappeared with an entirely unnecessary _crack_.

* * *

They scrounged up a dinner of take out from one of the local (read: only) pizza joints in town, and Jane produced a six pack from somewhere. Darcy chattered away happily, and snarked with Willow about anything and everything, and threw balled up napkins at Jane until she dragged herself away from her laptop and joined the conversation.

Between the "anonymous" funding Jane had recently accrued, and Willow's own contract with S.H.I.E.L.D., they had been able to expand their now-shared living space quite nicely – but the lab had expanded further, and so when they all curled up on the couch to watch a movie after dinner, they had to first unbury the thing of miscellaneous equipment and paperwork.

"You two are unbelievable," Darcy said with disgust, holding up a tangle of scavenged electrical wires in one hand while she fished a large crystal out from between two of the couch cushions with the other.

"I should be working," Jane grumbled as she wheeled one of the larger monitors into a good viewing position and hooked it up to her laptop. "The weather conditions are perfect tonight for – "

"Stop!" Darcy shouted. "Just stop!" She glared at them both. "When was the last time either of you took a _break?_ Got out of town? Lived a little?"

Willow and Jane exchanged guilty looks.

"That's what I thought," Darcy said with a sigh when neither of them could come up with an answer.

"It's not _that_ bad," Willow tried to defend. "We've both done a lot of travelling – "

"For _work_ ," Darcy interjected.

"I went to a fundraising gala last month," Jane added. "I wore heels!"

"Which was also for work. Yeesh. Sit your bony asses down and prepare for a week of relaxation and recreation, Darcy Lewis style."

Willow and Jane proceeded to exchange an entirely different sort of _look_.

* * *

When Willow blinked sleepily back into consciousness several hours later, the lights were low and the laptop had gone into sleep mode. Darcy was sprawled across the other end of the couch with a pillow over her face. Jane's seat was vacant.

Yawning hugely, Willow checked the time on her phone. It was nearly two in the morning. She sat up and rotated her neck; stiff from falling asleep smooshed up against the arm of the couch.

Careful not to wake Darcy, she got quietly to her feet and went in search of her wayward roommate.

Jane was exactly where she always went when she disappeared this late at night: curled up on one of the beaten-up lounge chairs on the roof, staring up at the stars.

"Hey," she greeted softly as Willow approached.

"Hey," Willow echoed back, sinking into the seat beside her. She let her head fall back and followed Jane's gaze skywards. It was a clear night. The stars seemed to stretch on into infinity.

"I'm not pining," Jane said suddenly, after a moment of companionable silence.

Willow quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Really, I'm not," Jane insisted. "I mean, yes, there was that whole thing – or not a _thing_ , there wasn't enough time for it to be a thing – so yeah, there's…Thor…but that's not…" Her rambling trailed off as she struggled to find the words. She gestured helplessly with both hands in front of her, and then at the sky. "It's what he represents, you know? There's so much _more_ out there – that we're a part of! – and I _saw_ it. I _touched_ it."

She took a breath, and Willow stifled a 'that's what she said' joke. It was not the time to channel her inner Michael Scott.

"The world is older than any of us know," she murmured instead.

"What was that?"

Willow shook her head. "Just remembering something. Not important."

"It's just…how could anyone see what we saw and forget about it; just go on with their lives?"

"You'd be amazed by what people can see and forget," said Willow dryly, thinking of Sunnydale.

"I'm obsessed, aren't I?" Jane groaned. She dropped her forehead to rest on her knees. "God, I'm such a stalker! I met the guy once for all of 48 hours and now I'm chasing him across the galaxy!"

"Could be worse," Willow pointed out. "At least you're not leaving dead things on his doorstep. That would be way creepier."

Jane lifted her head and squinted at her. "You're _sure_ you're from Earth?"

* * *

"So, Boss," Darcy said cheerfully over toast and cereal the next morning, "what kind of mind-blowing scientific discovery are we going to make today?"

Willow and Jane exchanged decidedly less chipper glances.

"I thought this was supposed to be a week of relaxation and recreation…?" queried Jane.

"Puh-leeze," Darcy drawled. "Don't act like you were actually going to take the week off. You're not even finished breakfast and you're already sciencing!"

Jane looked down at the napkin she'd been idly scribbling on in surprise, like she hadn't even been aware of it.

"Oh," she said, guiltily, dropping her pen and flexing her fingers.

"Let me guess, you 'dream in equations'," Darcy said disgustedly, and Jane's guilty expression intensified. Darcy sighed. "Hopeless," she pronounced, including Willow in the statement.

Willow held up her hands. "I swear, I am 100% focused on these cheerios."

"Ppfff," Darcy scoffed. "You're probably going to read those tea leaves when you're done."

Jane smothered a laugh. Willow frowned down at her mug.

 _Damn it, I totally_ was _going to do that_.

"I figure, if I can at least make you both eat and sleep like regular people, I can consider it a win," Darcy said with a shrug. "I mean, I'm not a miracle worker."

"We're not _that_ bad, are we?" Jane asked Willow.

"Oh, _honey_ , at least Willow _knows_ she's an obsessive workaholic."

Willow wasn't sure if she should feel offended or smug. Either way...

"It's true," Willow told Jane apologetically.

"Not to completely undermine everything I just said, but _have_ you made any progress?" Darcy asked curiously. "With, you know…" She gestured towards the ceiling, and ostensibly, the sky above. "It's been, like, ten months."

Jane rolled her eyes. "I'm _so_ sorry to disappoint you, but no. In ten whole months, I haven't yet figured out the secrets to wormholes or cross-dimensional travel."

"You slacker," Willow deadpanned.

"I didn't ask if you'd _solved it_ ," Darcy defended. "I asked if you'd made any progress."

"Some," Jane admitted. "Maybe. It's difficult to tell?"

"But you're helping her, right?" Darcy asked Willow. "With your super powers?"

"Magic…"

"Whatever, Hermione."

"It's complicated," Jane explained, pushing back her chair and scooping up their dishes. She dumped them in the sink and turned on the faucet. "And it's not just about finding a way to get to Asgard."

"Uh huh," Darcy said, disbelieving. "So you're not at all motivated by the thought of hooking up with a certain smoking hot god of thunder? He of the shining golden tresses and mighty hammer?"

Jane sighed. "It's bigger than that, Darcy."

"Ooh, Jane!" Darcy said wickedly. "You dirty, dirty girl!"

Jane threw a dish towel at Darcy's head.

* * *

"So it's like a really big battery?" Darcy confirmed.

It was evening again. They had made it all the way to dinnertime without a single mention of work, Thor, or alternate realities. But Darcy's natural curiosity had won out in the end and now they were all back in the lab. Jane was busy filling a whiteboard with her neat handwriting and Darcy was quizzing Willow on her S.H.I.E.L.D. consulting gig.

Which _technically_ was classified, but Darcy was really, really persistent. Pit bull with a bone persistent. And Jane already knew everything anyways. If anyone wanted to arrest Willow for blabbing…she mentally wished them luck with that.

"It's not actually that big," Willow say, holding out her hands to demonstrate the size of the Tesseract. "Just a cube."

A glowing, mystical cube with untold power.

"Where'd they get it?"

"I'm not sure," Willow said with a frown. "Fury didn't say. I've been more focused on what it can do than where it came from…I know the Nazis were after it during World War II, and then it was lost, but…"

"Is it just me, or is it always the Nazis?"

"…Erik might know more. He's the lead scientist on the project. He e-mails me sometimes when he's hit a wall, but I've been mostly keeping an eye on things from a distance."

"You don't trust S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Darcy asked.

"I can count the number of people I'd trust with an object of unfathomable power on one hand," Willow told her. "It's nothing personal."

"What about Jane?" Darcy pressed. "Why didn't they ask her to consult? You said that the energy might be able to sustain a portal - isn't that like a wormhole?"

"They asked," Jane offered over her shoulder, eyes never leaving the sweeping trail of numbers and symbols unfolding beneath her hands. "I declined. It's _completely_ personal."

"Jane's still pissed off at S.H.I.E.L.D. for confiscating her stuff," Willow confided. She raised her voice. "Even though I keep telling her to _keep her enemies closer and use them for their state-of-the-art equipment_."

Jane whirled around to face them, brandishing a red dry erase marker. "They're not my enemies," she insisted. "I just don't _like_ them. They have an agenda."

"Which is exactly why I want to know what they're up to," Willow pointed out.

"Do you think you could use the Tesseract to get home?" Darcy asked. She had stolen Willow's chair again and was spinning in slow circles, head tipped back, foot kicking out at regular intervals to keep up her momentum.

"The thought had occurred to me," Willow said. She shook her head. "I have to find Buffy first."

"But she's with Thor, right?" Darcy stopped spinning and sat up straight. "She has to be. She disappeared with the rest of the Renaissance Faire. He'll keep her safe. And Jane will find Thor, or die pining."

"Hey!" Jane cried.

Willow managed a laugh, even though her gut twisted every time she thought of her lost friend. Which was all the time. "You clearly don't know Buffy very well. She's not exactly a damsel in distress. She's usually the one causing the distress. Not to damsels," she amended hastily. "Unless they're bad. I mean - "

"Stop while you're behind," Jane advised.

"Mean," Willow pouted.

"Accurate," Darcy sniped.

"I could turn both of you into toads without breaking a sweat, you know that, right?"


	2. Worlds Apart 2

**Out the Window**

 _ **Part I: Worlds Apart**_

 **Two**

* * *

A metallic _zzzzziiiiiinnnnng_ rent the air and Buffy dodged a split second too late.

Mjölnir impacted with her chest with the approximate force of an eighteen-wheeler doing seventy-five on the freeway. An eighteen-wheeler full of bricks. She curled forwards instinctively around the hammer to absorb the blow, but that didn't stop her from flying twenty feet through the air.

"Lady Buffy?!"

"Nghygh," Buffy whimpered, flat on her back and completely winded. Okay, so that was probably a few broken ribs…

Thor's worried face swam into view above her. "Buffy, are you injured?"

"Ugh," she grunted, and kicked out sharply, sweeping Thor's legs out from under him.

He made a noise of surprise and collapsed across her feet. Buffy half-heartedly tried to dislodge him, but it was in that moment that her strength finally gave out, and she slumped back again, breathing heavily. Down by her boots, Thor muttered something unsavory and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. She was inordinately pleased to note that his breathing was also a little labored. It was hard to wear out a god!

He rocked backwards into a crouch and stood up. "You…are…distracted," he said between breaths. He reached down for her hand and pulled her swiftly into a standing position. "What troubles you?"

"Ow, my chest, you big jerk!" Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and breathed through the stabbing pain. Yeah, those were _definitely_ broken…She opened her eyes and glared up at him. "What gives, Goliath?!"

Thor shrugged, his expression stuck somewhere between guilt and concern. "I thought you would duck." He tiled his head to the left and stared intently down into her face. "You have not been yourself, these past weeks. I would know what ails you and causes you to act so abnormally!" As he spoke, his volume rose and he gestured wildly with Mjölnir.

"How would you know what's normal for me?" Buffy snapped.

Thor's expression crumbled. "I – I had considered us friends."

Buffy immediately felt like the biggest douchebag in the history of the world, because Thor looked like someone had just punted his puppy off a bridge. "Of course we're friends, I'm just being a bitch," she said miserably. "I'm sorry, I haven't been sleeping well."

"You are missing your home," Thor said quietly, his expression still unhappy.

"A little," Buffy admitted. "The people. And coffee. But this is…something else."

Thor took a half-step forward and settled one massive hand on her shoulder. "Tell me," he implored. "I wish to help."

"I know," Buffy acknowledged. She hesitated, trying to decide how much to tell him. "Do you have seers here in Asgard? People who can see the future?"

"Yes," Thor responded immediately, and then blinked down at her in surprise as he put the pieces together. "You have such sight?"

Buffy nodded, and wrapped an arm around her aching ribs. "I don't see the future, exactly. But sometimes I have these dreams. They're not clear – usually they're chock full of vague and heavy on the cryptic – but they're almost always warnings. That something bad is about to happen, and I'm supposed to stop it." She frowned suddenly. "And sometimes there's cheese."

"Cheese?" Thor repeated, brows furrowing in confusion.

"Never mind," Buffy said quickly. "It was a whole thing. You had to be there."

"These night terrors are what lead you to roam the halls in the early hours of the morning?" Thor pressed on.

Buffy stared at him, surprised by his specificity. "You know about that?"

"I have been trying to discover the cause behind your abrupt change in demeanor for several days now," Thor admitted. "My quest has led me to take note of your comings and goings."

"I _thought_ I heard someone following me last night," Buffy said, several puzzle pieces of her own falling into place. "Thor, you creeper!"

Thor ducked his head, abashed. "I grew concerned when I passed your chambers and heard you crying a sennight ago," he defended.

"Well, that's mildly embarrassing," Buffy said. "O- _kay_ , any chance we can just forget about this entire conversation? I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"

"You should visit my mother," Thor advised.

Buffy frowned. "Because she's going to make us lunch?"

Thor laughed loudly. "Never have I known her to withhold food if her guests wish it, aye. Those who visit Fensalir are treated with the utmost hospitality. But I speak of the guidance she may give you, for Frigga is a great see-er of things to come; though such knowledge is hers to keep in secret."

"Seriously?"

"I do not jest."

"That's…convenient," Buffy said slowly.

"I shall take you to her now," Thor decided abruptly. He swung Mjölnir up in a glinting arc, now clearly meaning _now_ , and as quickly as possible.

"Hey!" Buffy protested, throwing up her hands and backing away when he reached for her waist. "This flight is _not_ cleared for take-off!"

Thor lowered the hammer and looked at her patiently.

"What?!" Buffy demanded, reaching up to smooth her sweaty hair self-consciously. "I can't visit your mother looking like this!"

* * *

Fensalir was gorgeous in a wild, swampy sort of way. It rose out of lush wetlands, a glittering edifice swathed in mist that stretched up towards the heavens.

Frigga welcomed Buffy warmly and dismissed her son in practically the same breath; back to his warrior companions and the halls of his father.

Buffy was led first to a room with a steaming bath, and blushed only a little when the two handmaidens within ignored her protests and helped her to disrobe. One of them bundled her dirty clothes away while the other began to work the knots free from her flight-tousled hair. They left the actual washing to Buffy, which was a relief. _That_ particular Asgardian hospitality had taken some getting used to – and some convincing on Buffy's part that no, she didn't feel slighted by the notion of washing her own hair, she really did prefer it!

That hadn't stopped most of the palace attendants from hovering just outside the door and then swooping in with warm towels, or scented oils for her skin, or snacks, or whatever else they deemed helpful, almost before Buffy made up her mind to get out of the tub. She'd gotten used to it. Ever since that time she'd lived with a few dozen teenage girls crammed into a two-and-a-half bath house, she'd sort of stopped placing unnecessary importance on modesty.

Clean clothes and a basin of water with the tools to clean her teeth had Buffy feeling 100% better. The bruises dotting her ribcage from her earlier sparring match with Thor were already beginning to fade, and it no longer hurt to breathe which was always a plus. She combed her hair out over her shoulders to air-dry and followed one of the attendants through the brightly lit passageways to Frigga's private apartments.

When she first stepped inside the spacious chambers, hung as they were with intricate tapestries and elegant sculpture, she was overwhelmed with a sudden wave of homesickness for her mother. Buffy had no eye for art, but she knew Joyce would have swooned at the sight laid out before her.

Buffy blinked back unexpected tears; it had been years since her latent grief for her mother had caught her so unawares. Frigga saw something in her expression that betrayed her altered mood and took her hand to lead her further into the room. She settled them on a plush sofa that overlooked the wild landscape below through enormous bay windows. She signaled for an attendant to bring them refreshments.

"I am glad you have come," Frigga told her with warm sincerity. Her eyes searched Buffy's face. "I see now that I should have sent for you sooner. Thor tells me you have not been sleeping."

"Thor has a big mouth," Buffy grumbled.

Frigga laughed. "'Tis true. Ever since he was a child he has found it difficult to hold back his thoughts, and often expresses them with little consideration for subtlety. I hope it does not offend you that he has made your troubles known to me. He acts only out of concern."

Buffy smiled reassuringly. "I know he meant well. Believe me, I have plenty of experience with friends poking their noses into my business." She spared a fond thought for her friends back home, and accepted a drink from Frigga's handmaiden who had returned with a platter of fruits and bread. She had been expecting mead, which seemed to be the drink of choice on Asgard, but was pleasantly surprised to find her cup full of a kind of fruity sparkling wine. She sipped it slowly, turning her gaze once more unto the magnificent view outside.

"You will see them again," Frigga promised her, breaking the silence.

"Maybe," Buffy said, noncommittal. It wasn't that she didn't have faith in Willow (the woman had brought her back from the dead once, after all) but there were other things brewing. Slayer-y things, if her dreams were anything to go by. And she wasn't going to be able to just walk away from that.

"Your destiny has been much altered," Frigga commented oddly. She paused, and seemed to stare past Buffy. Finally, she blinked and refocused her gaze. "It is difficult to follow the threads," she said mysteriously. "It is not done changing, I think."

Buffy hardly knew how to respond to that statement. Her impulse, born out of decades spent rejecting the idea that she had some pre-determined destiny, was to declare that she didn't believe in fate or prophecy. Something in Frigga's voice gave her pause, though.

"Is anything ever fixed?" Buffy wondered out loud. She took a bite of a crunchy sort of biscuit and continued through the mouthful. "The thing about prophecies is, they have a nasty habit of self-fulfilling." She swallowed, and sipped her drink to wash it down. "So basically, I've stopped worrying about them."

Frigga inclined her head slightly. "That is wise," she said generously. "To prophesy is to claim a great authority over future events; few who possess such arrogance are able to accurately read the future."

At this point, Buffy fully expected the conversation to turn to the real reason she was there – the reason for her sleepless nights and for Thor's worry – but Frigga surprised her again by changing the subject entirely, and they did not return to such weighty discussion again for many days.

* * *

When the topic finally arose once more, it was not at all in the way Buffy imagined it would.

Fensalir was captivatingly beautiful and Frigga nothing short of the consummate hostess, but Buffy soon found herself growing restless. She had struck up an easy friendship with the other inhabitants and had at first relished in the solitude that could be achieved so much more easily in Frigga's halls than in Odin's bustling palace, but Buffy was not wired for prolonged inactivity. She found herself missing the companionship of Thor and his warrior friends strongly, and spent hours running drills with her scythe and other handy weaponry.

It was just when she thought she might explode from pent up energy that Frigga redirected her attention.

"Come," she said late one afternoon. "I have something to show you."

Frigga led her to the very top of Fensalir, up winding stairs that seemed to go on forever and ever, until they stepped out into an open, airy chamber full of tall windows and skylights. In the center of the room, there was a curious structure taller than either woman and hung with a multitude of colored threads. As Frigga beckoned her closer, Buffy recognized it as some kind of loom. She realized belatedly that the beautiful tapestries hung throughout the palace must have been woven by Frigga herself. It seemed a massive undertaking, but Buffy supposed you needed a hobby or two when your lifespan was many thousands of years.

"Know you anything of the weaving arts?" Frigga inquired as she watched Buffy studying the loom.

Buffy shook her head. "Mom took me with her a couple of times to buy some Navajo rugs for her gallery, but I was mainly interested in the sheep."

Frigga ran her fingers gently across the threads. "It is one of the oldest magics," she murmured. "It is my own gift, and one of the first I taught to my son."

Buffy suppressed a laugh at the mental image of Thor trying to untangle the tiny threads with his large hands. "I imagine _that_ went over well," she commented jokingly.

Frigga looked at her oddly for a moment before understanding dawned.

"Ah, no, Thor never had the patience for such craft. I speak of my younger son, Loki."

Buffy winced at her faux pas, but Frigga continued, unconcerned.

"He possesses a natural talent for it, though he has little use for the physical medium of thread," she said.

"It looks complicated," Buffy said.

"The end result can be," Frigga agreed, "but there is a rhythm to it. Here, I will show you."

She took Buffy's hands and guided her through the steps, explaining the differences between the warp threads, which ran the length of the fabric, and the weft, which ran side-to-side, and how they interacted to form dazzling patterns. It was actually kind of cathartic.

"This is magic?" Buffy asked dubiously after she'd gotten the hang of the movements. She paused to examine her work. It looked a little…lumpy.

Frigga smiled. "In a way – although perhaps not in the way you are thinking." She took the shuttle from Buffy's hands.

"The universe is like this warp," she explained, running her fingers across the threads that hung from the top of the loom. "A base structure – determinate – but only half of the equation."

She pulled on one of the rods running the width of the loom, causing the stone weights below to knock against one another in a soft, musical jumble. The threads parted enough for her to pass the shuttle through, completing a row of weaving. "The weft is choice. What thread we put into the cloth, and the exact path it takes through the warp, is up to us."

"So it's a metaphor."

"Yes."

Buffy sighed. "What if I don't know which threads to use? Or what if they're all tangled and knotted in a giant ball?"

"Sometimes I find it necessary to step back from my work to gain perspective," Frigga told her. "It is easy to see one thing in the isolated moment, and something else when gazing on the whole with fresh eyes."

It sounded to Buffy as though Frigga was advising her to wait and see what happened next. And if her suspicions were correct, and her old pal The First really _was_ lurking around in this universe, she didn't know what else she _could_ do. The trouble with The First Evil had always been that it acted through others, manipulating their deepest fears and desires. It twisted good intentions and fed on desperation and above all else, it was infinitely patient. There was nothing to fight, nothing to seek out and slay, no preemptive measures she could think to take save for staying vigilant.

She needed a fresh perspective.

"Loki is alive," she told Frigga, making the decision she'd been wrestling with for weeks since the dreaming began. She hadn't told Thor, whose grief and guilt was so palpable. Hadn't dared to, when there were still so many unanswered questions.

"I know," Frigga said simply.

"You know?" Buffy repeated, flummoxed.

"Call it a mother's intuition," said Frigga.

Buffy thought it was probably a little more than that, but she didn't comment. She was too relieved that she didn't have to try to convince Frigga, half-afraid to bring up such a sensitive subject.

Frigga fingered the edge of the incomplete cloth on her loom. She was quiet for a moment, obviously choosing her words carefully. "Loki has always been capable of far more than even he can fathom," she said finally. "I see now that it was a mistake to keep his birthright a secret from him."

In bits and pieces (and one evening in particular when Thor had gotten very, very drunk) Buffy had unraveled the story as best she could. And yeah, finding out you were of an entirely different species, not to mention one that you grew up fearing and hating, had to be one of the worst 'Surprise! You're adopted!' stories she had ever heard. Personally, she thought Frigga might be understating things.

"I regret the way things turned out, but it has always been clear to me that Loki could never reach his full potential here in Asgard, forever in his brother's shadow," she continued. "His path is just beginning. As is yours, Buffy Summers. Perhaps yours is also a journey that must take you far from home."

Buffy shivered, a tingling chill running down her spine. There was something in the lilt of Frigga's voice that gave the words more weight than a casual observation.

Frigga had a faraway look in her eyes again as she turned back to the loom. She touched the rows of weaving Buffy had tentatively completed, and picked up a shuttle wound with a bright gold thread. She plucked at the warp and began to work again, following some complicated pattern that was beyond Buffy's comprehension.

Sensing that the queen's attention had been captured entirely, Buffy quietly left her to it. She had much to think about.

* * *

"Thor, you're bleeding!"

"Buffy – "

"And oh my god, you have a black eye!"

"There is nothing to –"

" _You_ , Mr. I'm-so-strong-I-can-level-mountains, _have a black eye._ "

"If you would let me –"

"Did somebody beat you up? Like, did you steal their ale?"

"Nay – "

"Hit on someone's wife?"

"What?! I am not in the habit of hitting women! I – "

"It's an expression, never mind, but I just can't believe you! You totally got in a fight – "

"Buffy, _please_."

"… _and you didn't invite me?!"_

A wide smile pulled at Thor's split lip and a dribble of fresh blood rolled down his chin. His beard was already matted with the stuff and his teeth were stained pink. His entire person was covered in mud and gunk and his cloak had left a smudgy trail behind where it dragged across his mother's ornately tiled floor.

"Lady Buffy," he said, bowing formally and adopting a stately tone, "my companions and I would forever be in your debt should you grace us with your presence and help us defeat a fearsome beast that is ravaging our lands."

Buffy squinted up at him. "How fearsome are we talking?"

"I would not fault the bravest of warriors for soiling his drawers upon gazing into its repugnant, gaping maw."

"That fearsome, huh?"

"There is also much slime."

Buffy glanced at Frigga, who had been silently watching the proceedings with an amused expression ever since Thor touched down a few moments ago, and received a fond headshake. Buffy shrugged. "Yeah, what the heck?"

* * *

 **End notes:** The description of Frigga's loom is of a warp-weighted loom, which is what the Vikings would have used. A quick Google search should yield some good images if you're having trouble picturing it. The nature of the design is that they can really be any size - I imagine Frigga's is quite massive. Most depictions of the goddess Frigg show her at a spinning wheel ("spinning the clouds") but I felt this story needed something a little more realistic. She probably spins, too, though.


	3. Worlds Apart 3

Willow suppressed a shiver and drew her fur-trimmed hood more firmly around her head with her free hand as she quickened her pace. With the other hand, she clutched a brown paper bag tightly to her chest. The late afternoon flurries were already dotting the paper with wet splotches, and the weather report only promised worsening conditions as the day wore on.

Cursing whichever Power decided that snow was an acceptable weather condition to be experiencing in April, Willow pressed on. She wished that she could just teleport to her hotel room, but she'd been overextending herself lately. The last thing she needed right now was to misjudge her reappearance and wind up somewhere unintentional - which had happened to her once before. In Rio de Janeiro. In the middle of Carnival. She'd made some useful acquaintances out of the experience, but it wasn't a mistake she was interested in repeating.

Her hotel was only a few blocks away, but by the time she reached the front doors, her fingers were numb and the sudden blast of heat from inside made her cheeks burn. She smiled at the woman behind the front desk and headed across the lobby to the elevators.

As she stood waiting for the doors to open, she felt a familiar prickling feeling across the back of her neck. She tensed, but managed to catch herself before she turned impulsively to look.

The elevator _dinged_ and the doors slid open.

Calmly, she stepped inside; but as she turned to press the button for her floor, she let her gaze slide casually across the lobby. It was practically empty apart from the concierge. A middle-aged man wearing a dark suit sat by the gas fireplace with a newspaper unfolded over his crossed knees, nursing a tumbler of some amber liquid from the hotel bar despite it being only 4 o'clock. A hotel employee was mopping the floor near the entrance in a vain attempt to keep the snowy runoff and road salt from being tracked across the carpets. A pair of well-dressed elderly women were conversing amiably over coffee, and... _there_.

Willow spotted what she was looking for just before the doors swished shut. As the elevator ascended, she contemplated what to do about it. By the time she reached her floor, she had made up her mind.

Her hands had warmed up significantly by that point, and she only fumbled slightly with the keycard as she slid it through the lock. She flipped on a light and surveyed the room with a critical eye. Housekeeping had been in since that morning, but aside from fresh linens and the empty trashcan, the room appeared to be untouched.

Appearances could be deceiving.

Willow murmured a useful little incantation under her breath and watched as a shimmering trail of magic lit up a path across the room. It was methodical and thorough, pausing at the desk, the bed, her suitcase…

Well, she didn't care about any of that. Her laptop was on the desk, but there was nothing incriminating on it. Her phone and wallet were safe in her coat pockets, and everything else was of little consequence or use to anyone who wasn't Willow. Still - it was the principle of the matter.

She dropped the bag with her recent acquisitions on the desk by her computer, unlaced her boots, and shrugged off some of her layers. Running a hand through her hat-flattened hair, she picked up the landline and called the front desk.

"Would you do me a favor?" she requested after exchanging pleasantries with the concierge. "Please send the woman in the leather jacket up to room 712. Yes, she's a friend. Thank you."

She hung up.

She went into the bathroom and washed her face and hands. There was still some dried chicken blood and other substances best not dwelled upon under her fingernails from the afternoon's activities and she scrubbed them vigorously. Over the running water, she heard the soft _click_ of the hotel room door.

She turned off the faucet and dried her hands on a clean towel. Refreshed, she exited the bathroom.

"Make yourself at home, Natasha," Willow told the woman who stood leaning against the wall by the door with her arms crossed. "Do you mind if I call you Natasha? I figure, once someone's rifled through your underwear you might as well dispense with formalities."

Natasha Romanoff uncrossed her arms slowly and met Willow's raised eyebrow with a practiced expression of stone-cold neutrality. Standing up straight, she was a few inches shorter than Willow, but she wasn't fooled by her petite stature or lovely face. This was one of the most dangerous women in the world.

Unbothered, she padded barefoot across the room to the brown paper bag containing the afternoon's purchases, and began to remove the contents. She felt Natasha watching her closely as she sorted through the unmarked packets and jars. She set a few aside and began repacking the rest into her suitcase.

"You disappeared off S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar," Natasha said finally, breaking her silence.

"Not for long, clearly."

Willow had first felt like someone was watching her two days after arriving in Montreal - and she'd been there for close to a week.

"Although to be honest, I'm surprised you didn't find me sooner. I haven't been _hiding_."

She really hadn't been. She had even booked the hotel room under her own name.

Natasha shrugged. "It's hard to track people across continents when they don't use their passport. Or normal human transportation."

"Well...you caught up eventually." Willow stashed the last of her supplies and zipped the suitcase closed. She looked up and met the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent's cool gaze. "Fury must be really paranoid about what I'm up to if he's sending someone like you to play babysitter."

Willow had done a fair amount of digging into S.H.I.E.L.D. since she found herself stranded in this world. Natalia Alianova Romanova, aka Natasha Romanoff, aka Black Widow was pretty much, in a nutshell, _the_ definition of a super spy. She was like James Bond meets Bruce Lee, only _more_. From what Willow had been able to glean from the files (and does it _really_ count as hacking when S.H.I.E.L.D.'s security protocols were so laughably flimsy?), Widow's been Fury's go-to girl for all things espionage relating to his pet projects of late.

Willow liked to know what she was dealing with, but she was honestly a little surprised that her Canadian adventure warranted this level of attention.

"Fury's always paranoid," said Natasha, stepping away from the wall and moving closer. "What _are_ you up to?" She picked up one of the remaining paper packets off the desk and turned it over in her hands. "Drugs?"

"Oolong," Willow corrected dryly, leaning back against the desk. "The tea shop might be a front, but it still would have been rude to leave Madame Z's without buying something."

"A front for what?"

"You couldn't figure it out?"

"I couldn't get eyes or ears past the shop floor," Natasha told her honestly. That was something, at least. "I was instructed not to engage." She set the packet of tea back down on the desk.

"Yet you obviously wanted me to see you downstairs," Willow retorted.

It had been bothering her. Black Widow was like the MVP of secret agents. Ergo, if she didn't want to be seen, consider her smoke in the wind.

Natasha shrugged. "I got bored."

"Wow, isn't that against the rules or something? S.H.I.E.L.D. code of conduct? Chapter One of 'How Not to Break Your Cover'?"

Natasha's lips curved into a half-smile. There was something sly about it that sent a shiver down Willow's spine. "I have my own methods," she said enigmatically. "Who's Madame Z?"

"Ah ah ah, don't think I don't know what you're doing," Willow tsked with a grin. "You're totally trying to trick me into giving you information."

"So you _are_ hiding."

"Let's just call her an expert in the field."

"Physics?"

Willow laughed. "No, she's a witch." She picked up the desk phone again. "Hey, I know it's early, but I'm starving so I'm gonna order room service. You want anything? I promise you can continue interrogating me over dinner."

* * *

Agent Romanoff had free reign to interrogate her anytime she liked, Willow mused as she lounged in bed the next morning, procrastinating getting up. It wasn't late yet, but it wasn't early, either. The bed was warm and soft, and bright sunlight was painting a luminous abstract on the opposite wall. Just a little while longer…

She pardoned her laziness by reasoning that she was resting up before attempting another long-distance teleportation. Natasha was long gone, of course; disappeared back to wherever S.H.I.E.L.D. was putting her up, Willow figured. She didn't doubt that most of what she'd told the spy last night would end up in her own S.H.I.E.L.D. dossier, or whispered in Fury's ear or however that worked, but she'd been honest about not hiding. They already knew she was a witch, after all. They knew about Buffy, too, if not the nitty gritty details of what a vampire slayer was, and they knew that Willow's top priority was finding a route to Asgard, and then home. She'd made no secret of any of that.

They'd taken a bit of a gamble, she supposed, when they offered her a contract. She put that down to Fury's opportunistic streak. Yes, Willow and her magical abilities were a relative unknown, but she'd thrown her hat in the ring with Earth during that whole mess with the Destroyer. There was also ample evidence that S.H.I.E.L.D. was in a major recruitment phase. Their main strategy seemed to be 'scoop up as many "supers" as possible' before they ended up on the opposite side of the battlefield. It wasn't a bad strategy.

All of the data indicated a recent upswing in the number of high-powered beings in this reality. Willow hadn't been able to pinpoint a cause, but it bothered her. Balance was an all-important concept in the multi-verse. Some of these people must have existed before, but things were heating up. In _very_ public ways. Hellmouths, while she and Buffy had been busy fighting that giant tin can, a real-life Jekyll and Hyde situation had flattened significant portions of Harlem.

Rumblings from the deep.

Willow pulled herself reluctantly from the bed, sleepy comfort driven from her mind in the face of the ominous unknown. It was time to get back to work. She showered and dressed quickly, and threw her dirty clothes from the night before into her suitcase along with her laptop and toiletries. Leaving her room key on the bedside table, she grabbed her phone and fired off a quick text to Jane.

 **Astral plane theory didn't pan out. Magic here is weird.**

Jane's response was immediate, which mean she'd had at least two cups of coffee already.

 **All magic is weird. Science is better.**

And then –

 **Can't believe I just typed that. What is happening to my life.**

 **I'll be home late – don't wait up.**

 **New lead?**

 **Exploring other options. I'll tell you later.**

 **Be careful. I can tell you're about to do something I won't like.**

 **Who, me? ;P**

Willow closed her messenger app and tucked the phone into her pocket. As she reached for her coat, she hesitated over the dirty mug she'd left on the desk the night before. The tea leaves had congealed to sludge in the bottom of the cup, but she remembered their shape. A wheel, which might mean change or progress, but with spoke that formed an X. Danger. A warning.

What was waiting in the shadows?

* * *

The Mediterranean climate was far more comfortable to Willow's southern California taste, but the company was proving to be considerably less agreeable.

"What does a nice girl like you want with that kind of information?" her companion asked, leaning back in his chair, regarding her with glittering eyes and a half-smile Willow didn't trust for an instant. He reached for his espresso and his fingers brushed the back of her knuckles. She had to admit, he sure was a charmer. Too bad his masculine wiles were completely lost on her.

She leaned forward. "What makes you think I'm a nice girl?"

He paused, cup halfway to his lips, and laughed out loud.

"My dear, I don't know what led you to my doorstep, but I can't help you," he said, shaking his head, still chuckling. "I wouldn't even know where to begin, and quite frankly I'm offended by your implications that I would."

"I think you're lying," Willow said evenly, lifting her iced tea to her lips. She took a long sip and swallowed before continuing. "In fact, I know you are."

She reached down beside the table and drew a slim envelope out of her bag. She slid it across the table to her companion.

He glanced down at it with feigned nonchalance. "What's this?" he said, making no move to touch the envelope.

"Nothing you haven't seen before," Willow told him, and watched with satisfaction as his left eye twitched beneath his expensive sunglasses. She knew she was probably enjoying his discomfort more than she ought too. "But it does paint an…illuminating…picture of your business practices."

He opened the envelope and quickly scanned the contents. After a moment, he stuffed the papers back inside.

"No matter," he told her, smiling tightly. "This is Malta, remember?" He spread his arms wide, gesturing to their surroundings. Beyond the immaculate lawn, the sea sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight. "S.H.I.E.L.D. can't touch me. What, did you think I don't know who you're really working for? I'd advise you to reconsider that allegiance, by the way."

"It's not S.H.I.E.L.D. you should be worried about, Quinn."

"Is that a threat?"

"I thought that was obvious." Willow sat back and crossed her arms. "I think a lot of powerful people would be interested in the contents of that envelope. And not all of them belong to peace-keeping organizations." She paused. "Not such a nice girl after all, huh?"

Ian Quinn stared at her for a long moment before breaking into a slow smile. He shook his head. "My mistake," he said magnanimously, tucking the envelope inside his suit jacket. "How can I be of assistance, Dr. Rosenberg?"

Willow beamed at him.

"I find myself in need of unmonitored lab space…"


	4. Worlds Apart 4

Thor really hadn't been kidding about the slime.

It was in her hair, on her clothes, and Buffy was pretty sure she even felt some squelching around inside her boots. She'd been picturing a Chaos demon, but the reality had turned out closer to Nickelodeon on steroids.

Her companions were in similar slimy states, but they all joked and conversed cheerfully as they made their triumphant return to the city. After a rousing hunt with their quarry safely dispatched, Buffy was in a good mood too, but she'd be even happier after she had a bath.

As they passed through the grand entranceway that marked the palace proper, they were met by Odin himself.

"Your hunt was successful," he said in lieu of a greeting.

"Yes, Father," Thor said, standing up straighter and adopting a serious, princely expression as though he hadn't just been laughing at one of Fandral's bawdy jokes. "The beast will no longer terrorize our city."

"That is good," Odin said, nodding. He looked them over thoughtfully.

They all stood awkwardly in the ensuing silence, trying not to fidget under the king's penetrating gaze.

"Lady Buffy was instrumental to the hunt," Thor said after a moment when the king said nothing further. "Although it was Lady Sif who delivered the killing blow."

"I commend your choice in warriors," said Odin mildly, his single eye sliding past Sif to fix on Buffy. She immediately felt uncomfortable, but was determined not to let it show.

"Thank you, Father," Thor said, bowing slightly. He glanced around at his grimy companions. "Perhaps we should wash before the evening meal…?"

"Of course," Odin agreed, nodding. "Tonight we shall celebrate your victory." It was a dismissal. He turned to leave, but paused, looking back over his shoulder. "I would burn the cloaks if I were you," he advised as an afterthought.

The six warriors looked at each other for a second as his footsteps receded into the distance and burst out laughing.

* * *

There was much drinking and carousing following their conquest, but Buffy kept her head and retired to bed early. She was glad of it when Odin requested a private audience early the very next morning. She thanked the servant who'd come bearing the message and closed her door so she could make herself presentable. She was uncomfortably reminded of being summoned to the Principal's office back in high school.

Which, given her history with high school principals, didn't exactly bode well for Odin.

Reminiscing about Principal Snyder made her feel oddly better as she opened her wardrobe. After a moment's hesitation, she passed over the sort of dresses she'd favored at Fensalir and selected something Sif might wear instead. Minus the plate armor. Buffy smiled to herself as she pulled on her new kick-ass boots, imaging what Cordelia Chase would have to say about her new wardrobe if this really was high school.

Catching sigh of her reflection in the mirror, Buffy had to admit that she secretly loved the whole Neo-Viking look. What the Aesir lacked in zippers, they more than made up for in general badassery.

"When in Asgard," she rationalized, strapping on a pair of delicately tooled leather vambraces to complete the ensemble. She checked her reflection one last time, gave her hair a little fluff, and set out with a determined stride.

"Well met, Daughter of Summer."

Odin's voice boomed out across the cavernous receiving hall as Buffy came to a halt at the foot of the steps leading up to his throne. He sat tall and indomitable upon his golden dais. On either shoulder perched a large raven, but a flick of his hand sent them into flight. They wheeled overhead, and one circled above Buffy; so close she felt its wings rustle her hair before it returned to Odin and settled on the upper portion of his throne.

Like many other Asgardians, Odin dropped the 's' from the end of her name, pronouncing it like the season. Buffy had learned that in such trivial matters, it was easier to let them do as they liked, and so she stood silently watching as the King of Asgard regarded her solemnly.

"My son tells me you are a mighty warrior," Odin said finally. "Properly outfitted as you are now, it is not so difficult to believe. Still – "

Here he paused, and Buffy mentally braced herself for the Asgardian equivalent of a short joke.

"Still," he continued, "it is no small matter to wield Mjölnir. Even without the trust of Thor and his companions, the good word of my queen, and of Heimdall who-sees-all, for this alone I would listen to what you have to tell me, Buffy Summerdottir. Very few in the nine realms may count themselves worthy of that great hammer."

Buffy blinked, trying to untangle his words, and scrambled to formulate an appropriate response. "It suits Thor better," she said, speaking of Mjölnir. "Really clashes with my outfit."

She wasn't sure if she imagined it, but she thought she saw the corners of Odin's mouth turn upwards a fraction of a degree.

"There _is_ something I wanted to talk to you about," Buffy said, taking the in. "I've been having these dreams…"

"Yes," Odin said, nodding like he knew all about them.

"Jeez, Thor, way to blab to the whole class," Buffy muttered under her breath. To Odin she said, "Something bad is revving its engines, and I think it's using Loki to get what it wants."

Odin stared down at her, his expression indecipherable. Buffy wondered if she should have skipped the car analogy.

"Loki is gone," Odin said with a dismissive sort of finality.

"Well, he's got a new gig," Buffy said firmly. "The kind that comes with fashion-challenged minions and bad hair choices."

Odin stood and his ravens launched back into flight. "Loki fell from the Bifrost. He is lost to us." His tone brooked no argument.

Buffy tried again anyways. "In my dreams – "

"Your dreams are just that – the fanciful imaginings of the unconscious human mind." Odin descended the steps until he stood just a few feet above her. His gaze was piercing, and Buffy fought hard not to take a step back. "Heimdall has seen nothing to corroborate your claims. Speak no more of this. You do nothing but poke at old wounds."

Buffy clenched her jaw to stop herself speaking out. It was never a good idea to piss off the king, especially when he was feeding you and letting you crash at his castle. Plus, he was Thor's dad, and she wanted to like him because of that – and even sort of had once or twice, but he had a really shitty attitude towards certain things.

She stayed silent as Odin stared down at her for a long moment. Finally, he said, "Do not tempt Thor with these unfounded assertions. His thoughts stray to Midgard too often as it is. His focus must remain here on Asgard, and the welfare of all nine realms."

And then he swept past her, just like that.

 _Oh, what the hell_ , Buffy thought. _Bitca-Buffy it is._

(In her defense, since when had she _ever_ reacted well to old men telling her what to do? Since never, that's when.)

"What's the Tesseract?" she called after him loudly.

Odin stopped in his tracks. He turned to look back at her. "What do you know of such things?" he demanded.

"Glowy and cube-like ringing any bells?" Buffy continued, walking towards him when he didn't move. She shrugged. "Only that it's powerful. And dangerous, if The First wants it." She paused, and then clarified. "That's The First Evil, by the way. Big with the mind-games, impossible to kill."

"The Tesseract is lost," said Odin.

"Until it's found," Buffy replied. "Look, I don't know how The First plans to get its grubby little incorporeal hands on it, or where it came from, or what it does, but I can guess what the endgame is – and it rhymes with 'acropolis.'" She wrinkled her nose. "Sort of. What's a better word that rhymes with 'apocalypse?'"

"Ragnarok," Odin said heavily.

"Uh, no, acropolis was definitely closer."

"Ragnarok is the end of days."

"See, that's a synonym. I was doing rhymes," Buffy groused. "Oh, forget it. The cube is dangerous, that's all that matters. And the biggest, baddest thing in the universe – possibly all of the universes – is using your son to get it."

Odin blinked at her from beneath his heavy brows.

" _Well?_ " Buffy demanded, hands on her hips. "What are you going to do about it?"

He seemed stumped for a minute, but slowly he nodded. "We must do everything in our power to reclaim it," he said finally.

Buffy frowned. _Reclaim_ wasn't exactly what she'd been going for. _Destroy_ was more her speed. But Odin was still speaking.

"You are prepared to fight this great evil?" he questioned, looking as though he sincerely doubted it.

"It's kind of my job," she said dryly.

* * *

Transportation was an issue.

With the Bifrost still unpassable, their options were severely limited. This was a marked improvement over nonexistent (as Buffy had been led to believe was the case) but she worried about the cost Odin's alternative methods might incur.

Buffy was willing to bet her entire shoe collection that Odin would be reluctant to allow Thor the means to return to Earth based solely on his disapproval of his son's infatuation with "fair Lady Jane" but she also believed him when he stated that he would not be moved to attempt such a dangerous course of action for anything less serious than the very real threat of galactic war.

So yes, Buffy was uncomfortable with any plan that hinged on summoning something called Dark Matter, but she was at a loss for what else they could do. The Tesseract was clearly the One Ring in this scenario, and even if she hadn't worked out the rest of the casting just yet, she was 100% certain that there was a Sauron lurking out there. Probably a Morgoth, too, knowing her luck. And orcs. Lots and lots of orcs. That was just how these things worked.

Uneasy, Buffy settled back to wait.

* * *

 _Thwack._

 _Thwack._

 _Thwack._

Buffy squinted down the length of the hall to the row of targets she'd dragged to the farthest end of the practice court. Three knives, one for each bullseye, each sunk into the targets up to their hilts.

"You are leaving?" a voice interrupted from behind her. Buffy turned.

Sif stood in the doorframe, dressed more plainly than usual in a linen dress cinched at the waist with a crisscrossing belt reminiscent of the detailing on her shield. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders. Buffy had rarely seen her out of armor since they met. Sif had clearly not sought her out to spar, as they had done together a number of times in recent months. Buffy liked fighting Sif. They were well-matched. Buffy was faster and tended to mix fighting styles which often gave her the element of surprise, but Sif was her equal in strength and had a certain tenacity about her that left her absolutely unwilling to yield. She would have made a fantastic Slayer.

"Yeah," Buffy told her, "though part of me is convinced Odin is just seizing the chance to get me out of his hair."

"Nay," Sif denied, shaking her head. "That is not true. The All Father has seen your worth. If he sends you to accompany Thor, it is because he knows you are capable of accomplishing this task."

"The task is a little murky…"

"All will become clear in time," Sif said with confidence. "You have the Sight, aye?"

"How does everyone know about that?!" demanded Buffy. "Did Thor _actually_ send out a memo?"

"Men are gossips."

"True."

"Come, let us seek amusement elsewhere." Sif linked arms with Buffy and led her out of the practice hall. "These weapons and worries will still be here on the morrow, but the hour grows late. If you are to leave Asgard soon, I must insist that you regale me further with tales of your warrior sisters. You never finished telling me of your defeat of the one you call 'The Judge'…"

* * *

Their friends found them eventually, holed up in the back corner of a small tavern a fair distance from the city center, although neither Sif or Buffy had sent word to them of their location. Buffy was convinced that they had a sixth sense for whenever there was drinking to be done.

In typical fashion, their entrance caused a small disturbance in the way four men dressed in full battle armor often did in small establishments such as the one the women had chosen that evening. Then again, that was fairly normal for Asgard. Maybe it was just the royalty in their midst.

"Lady Sif! Lady Buffy! We have found you at last!"

Sif sighed loudly as the rest of the bar turned to look at them. She downed the last of her drink in one swig and beckoned the barkeep over to refill their cups.

"Truly, friends, what mean you by choosing this out of the way place?" Volstagg queried too loudly as they made their way back to where the two women were sitting.

"I do not think I have ever been here before," Fandral commented, looking around curiously.

"We chose to come here for the _quiet_ and the _privacy_ ," Sif said, crossing her arms.

"Oh, good idea!" Volstagg said, and threw his bulk into the seat across from her. "Barkeep! A round of mead for my friends!"

"I think you're missing the point," Hogun commented, but he took a seat as well. Fandral eagerly followed suit, but Thor hesitated at the edge of the table.

"We will leave you in peace if that is your wish," he offered uncertainly.

Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun all stared at Thor like he was speaking gibberish.

Buffy and Sif exchanged a glance.

"Sit," Buffy said, pulling him down beside her.

"You went to the trouble of finding us," Sif agreed. "Besides, you can pay for the mead." She eyed the serving girl who had suddenly appeared with faint amusement. The girl giggled and hovered too close to Thor's shoulder as she leaned across the table to deliver their drinks. Buffy stifled a laugh as Thor edged uncomfortably away, but the not-so-subtle movement earned her a glare from the girl when he ended up pressed against Buffy's side.

"Thanks," Buffy said drily when the girl slammed her tankard on the table with enough force to splash a healthy quantity of alcohol over the edge. Under the table, she ground her heel into the top of Thor's foot. He had the grace to look abashed.

"I understand now why you chose this tavern," Fandral said, eyeing the girl appreciatively. He reached for his tankard just as she set it down, very obviously brushing his fingers across hers before she could release the cup.

Buffy caught Sif's eyeroll, but sent Fandral a silent _thank you_ when his flirting had the desired effect. The girl smiled warmly at Fandral, and only gave Thor a passing glance as she curtseyed and returned to the bar.

"A toast!" Volstagg declared, lifting his own tankard.

"To…?" Sif wondered.

Volstagg looked perplexed for a moment, and then brightened. "To our friends' imminent adventure! Although," here he pouted slightly into his magnificent beard "why we cannot join you on your quest I still do not understand. Lady Buffy's tales of Midgard are most compelling."

"If _someone_ hadn't destroyed the Bifrost…" Fandral said, looking pointedly at Thor.

"What is six compared to two?" Volstagg pressed. "If the All Father can conjure enough dark matter to send – "

"Shhh," Sif hissed, silencing him. "Do not speak so loudly of that here."

"She's right," Hogun agreed. "That is a dangerous talk. There are those who might seek to take advantage of that power for themselves."

"And though my father's word is law," Thor added quietly, "I do not think all would agree with this course of action."

"Best to keep a lid on it, my friend," said Fandral, nodding.

Volstagg was almost certainly pouting by that point. "I was not speaking so very loudly," he defended.

"Let us toast your loyalty, friend," Thor said, lifting his tankard, "for I know you would take up arms with us in a heartbeat. It gives me great relief to know you will remain to keep watch over Asgard while I am away."

"Here, here," said Fandral.

"To Volstagg," said Hogun.

"To loyalty," said Buffy.

"Yes," said Sif quietly as they clanged their tankards together, "so long as we do not allow it to blind us to the faults in others."

Buffy frowned as she took a swallow of her mead, the honeyed taste turning bitter on her tongue. She didn't have to look at Thor to feel the tension rolling off of him, and knew he'd heard Sif as well. It was hard to ignore the insinuation in her warning, for although Thor spoke seldom of his brother, they all knew that he held onto the hope that Loki was not yet lost to them entirely. The Warriors Three hemmed and hawed uncomfortably whenever the topic was brought up, but Sif was outspoken in her dismissal of Loki, and it put a strain on their friendship. The matter was only further complicated by Sif's colossal crush on Thor, of which, as far as Buffy could tell, he remained astonishingly oblivious.

Buffy wasn't the wishing sort, but Dark Matter be damned – she _really_ wished Odin would get a move on.


	5. Worlds Apart 5

It was another three weeks – by the Æsir's calendar, which probably didn't match up to the Gregorian calendar but Buffy couldn't be bothered to figure out the conversion – before her reckless bout of wishing became reality. Whether the process of dark matter collection had taken that long, or Odin had just been dicking around she would probably never know, and a quick check of her internal apocalypse barometer kept her from asking. She hated to play the waiting game, but her gut told her that timing was important on this one, and they had a little left to go.

Being patient was excruciating, though.

Nights were the worst, because her list of possible distractions dwindled considerably. She could only go on a drinking binge with the boys every so often (see: beer = bad) and Asgard didn't boast nearly the same number of creatures of darkness for her to hunt as Earth did. She had yet to see a single vampire in this world, and it was starting to grate on her nerves, to be honest. There were other nighttime distractions to be had, of course; and she would be lying to say she hadn't been tempted a time or three, but in the end she'd opted for solitude over sex. She wasn't a prude (she really wasn't, no matter what Dawnie said, she just didn't want to hear the details of her baby sister's burgeoning sex life, thank you very much) but with a way home (or at least, a way to a way home) looming on the horizon, physical comfort wasn't what she craved.

She would also be lying if she said that Thor's star-crossed relationship with Jane Foster, as nebulous as it was, wasn't influencing her decision to steer clear of any potential attachment to an alien. Not only was she from a different planet, but an alternate reality to boot – if that didn't spell doomed relationship, then Buffy didn't know what did.

As she often did when things went to shit, Buffy dreamed of Faith.

 _They were sitting at a high top at The Bronze, tucked into a back corner near the pool tables. The grungy beat of some unknown local band underscored the chatter of the crowd, as varied as it ever had been back when Sunnydale was still above sea level. Incongruous to the musical selection, there seemed to be a faint Cinco de Mayo theme to the décor and manner of dress surrounding them. Buffy swirled her drink with the end of a tiny pink paper umbrella, patterned with red chili peppers. Faith was drinking beer from a bottle, and her dark hair was pinned back by a large, yellow flower on one side._

" _You ready for this fight, B?" Faith asked her. "It's been awhile." She took a swig of her beer and surveyed the crowd. "Gods, when did college kids start looking so young?"_

 _Buffy squinted in the direction she was looking. "I think those might be high schoolers," she said, frowning. "I hope."_

 _Faith shook her head. "Never thought we'd be old ladies," she said._

" _Hey, speak for yourself! Thirty is the new twenty."_

 _Faith favored her with a half-smile, warm and friendly. "You're thirty-one, B."_

" _Do birthdays even count if you're in another galaxy?"_

" _You know what I meant." Faith gestured to the two of them. "Never thought we'd live to see twenty-five."_

" _I didn't, technically."_

" _Oh, don't be a drowner."_

 _They both laughed. It felt good to crack inappropriately morbid jokes. For a bunch of ancient space Vikings, the_ _Æ_ _sir were surprisingly earnest and her sense of humor often went over their heads._

 _Buffy took a sip of her drink. It was sweet and fruity and probably a lot more alcoholic than it tasted. "Is it possible to get drunk in a dream?" she wondered out loud._

 _Faith shrugged. "Dunno. Are we dreaming?"_

" _Must be," Buffy said, gesturing to the room._

" _Figures." Faith drained her bottle and leapt off her stool. She held out a hand to Buffy. "C'mon, let's dance."_

 _The music had transitioned to something dancier, and the floor was hopping. They wove their way through the crowd of gyrating bodies until they found an open space. It felt good to let loose. Buffy shook out her long hair and twirled. Her skirt flew up around her hips and Faith laughed, loud and bright._

" _You look happy!" she yelled over the music._

" _Do I?" Buffy yelled back, surprised._

" _Maybe getting lost in the stars will be good for you," Faith went on, still yelling even though they both had Slayer hearing._

" _I'm not lost, I'm just…stuck. Temporarily."_

" _Not yet!" Faith gave her a huge wink and grabbed both her hands to spin her around. "You gotta stop worrying so much, B," she said as they flew in a circle. "Just go with the flow. And for fucks sake, bone some of that godly ass while you can."_

Buffy woke up with her sister's wild laughter ringing in her ears and the beat of the club echoing all around her. It took her a moment to realize that someone was actually knocking on her door. She kicked away the tangle of sheets around her legs and went to answer it. Thor stood on the other side, fully dressed despite the early hour, Mjölnir clutched in his hand. His expression was grim.

"Heimdall brings news of Loki," he said without preamble. "My brother seeks to cause more mischief on Midgard. Father is preparing to send us there to intercept him."

"I _knew_ he was stalling," Buffy muttered to herself, but she could already feel a grin threatening to overtake her face. She tried to tamp down on it when she met Thor's anxious gaze. "Hey, don't worry!" she tried to reassure him. "Give me five minutes to change and then we'll go collect baby brother before he flattens any more towns." She smiled and put a hand on his arm. "We totally got this."

Thor tried to return her smile, but it was a pitiful attempt.

* * *

In the lab in the basement of a private estate on an archipelago in the Mediterranean, an alarm on Willow's phone chirped and buzzed, and the whole desk vibrated with it.

 _Bzzzzzzzz._

She ignored it, scrolling through the data on her laptop screen. "Come on, come on…"

 _Bzzzzzzzz._

"What are you up to…" she murmured, still scrolling. She tapped a few keys, and opened a second window.

 _Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz._

Annoyed, she finally glanced down at the phone, intending to turn it off. Her eyes widened. The whole phone was glowing a bright, pulsing, angry red. "Shit!" Willow gasped, grabbing it off the desk. She swiped hastily at the touch screen lock. "Shit, shit, shit!" She stared in dismay at the data flashing across the screen. She pulled up a video feed. " _Sonuvabitch_."

She disabled the alarm and shoved the phone unceremoniously into her pocket as she stood up.

 _Crack_.

* * *

End Part I

…can you guess what comes next?


End file.
